The orders were simple: attack the village and purge it of any and all magical things. Uther had been clear, looking his fourteen-year-old son straight in the eyes. "This will be your first time leading a raid on your own," He said, "This is your chance to prove yourself. You must not disappoint me, Arthur." The young prince nodded, schooling his features into firm confidence, doing his best to mask his nervousness beneath. Uther clapped Arthur on the shoulder once before sending him and the Knights away.
Arthur was surprised at the quaintness of the village. He had never been on a raid before, and he imagined that the houses would be dark and cold, the people clothed in black and hissing spells from sunken eyes. But this village looked just like any other- The houses were small, with flowers lining the roads and chickens milling about.
When they arrived with Arthur at the head of the pack, Arthur was struck by the quiet innocence of it all. He couldn't see any people, but the place didn't look inhabited by wicked beings.
The moment was shattered by a scream somewhere in the village, and suddenly Arthur's men emitted a war cry, their swords ringing as they leapt from their horses to storm the area. Arthur called out to them, trying to remind them to be merciful, but his voice was lost in the chaos.
He dismounted his horse, gripping a sword that was only slightly too big for him. Now he could see the villagers, looking just like the citizens of Camelot, screaming and running, some clutching children to their chests.
The Knights seemed to have forgotten their young commander, instead choosing to kill anyone in rags and dirtl. Arthur found himself frozen in his place as the violence shifted around him, noticing that these so-called sorcerers weren't even trying to fight back.
"Too easy, eh?" shouted a Knight, pulling his sword from the stomach of a man. "Uther's gonna be very pleased wit' this!"
The mention of his father shook Arthur from his trance, and he lifted his sword and charged, following a fleeing figure into an otherwise empty hut.
The house only had one room, inside only a dirt floor, a rickety table, and a woman cowering beside a fireplace. Arthur followed her and she backed away, whimpering when she saw Arthur's sword.
"Have mercy," She plead, wringing her hands in front of her, "Please, sire, I have done no wrong!"
Arthur had no words. This woman before him was a witch, his father said so, which meant that she was evil. She conspired against the throne, her heart was wicked. Something Uther had said to him stirred in his memory: "They might seem like people, but they aren't, not really. Son, they are going to beg and plead with you. They will claim that they are innocent but trust me, it is only one of their tricks. If you spare them they will kill you the moment you turn your back."
This woman, fifteen years older than Arthur at least, didn't seem evil at all. She was trembling, covering her face with her hands. Looking into her eyes, Arthur could have sworn she looked scared.
"Uther's going to be very pleased wit' this..."
"Please..."
Arthur's arm moved almost of his own accord, plunging his sword straight into the woman's stomach. She emitted a single cry, her eyes catching Arthur's for a long moment before she went limp, and Arthur's sword came sliding smoothly from her flesh. She fell to the ground, blood staining her dirty rags and dripping into the ground. Her eyes stared up, forever frozen in her last moments of terror. Arthur lurched and turned just in time to be sick all over the floor, away from the corpse.
His sword dropped to the ground and he stood there, catching his breath with his hands braced on his knees, shuddering and coughing.
"Sire?" Came a gruff voice, and Arthur staggered around to see Sir Kay standing in the doorway, bloody sword in hand. His face twitched sympathetically when he saw the young prince's state, but he said nothing on the subject. "That's the last of them."
True enough, the air was no longer filled with screams and roars. Instead there was silence except for the muffled sounds of the Knights speaking amongst themselves.
Arthur nodded jerkily, picking up his sword. Careful not to look at the body or the blood on his blade, he left the hut.
Outside, red-cloaked men were cleaning their swords in the grass, laughing heartily with each other as though they weren't standing in a village slaughtered. Some men were silent, looking somberly about themselves, eyeing their laughing comrades with contempt.
"What now, sire?" Asked one of them, and the rest of the Knights stood to attention, suddenly remembering they were in someone else's command.
Arthur swallowed, not trusting his voice. "Back to Camelot," He said, wavering. His knees shook beneath him, but he made himself stand straight. It would not to do break down in front of his men. This is his time to prove to them and to his father the King that he is capable of leading, that he is strong.
"We can tell Uther of our success!" One Knight said, "And the success of our prince!" The others murmured in agreement. Arthur nodded once, and the rest took that as a signal to move back to their horses.
When they arrived in Camelot, Uther welcomed his son with a smile and a firm clap on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, son," he proclaimed, smiling. "I declare a feast, to celebrate Prince Arthur's first successful mission!"
Arthur tried to smile at that, but it came out more of a grimace. He excused himself, bowing to his father before fleeing to his chambers, the woman's scream still in his ears.